


The Best Way to Start the Day

by JET_Playin



Series: The Best Way to Start the Day [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Roommates, Shameless Smut, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Harry and Draco have been doing this for some time, but what happens when love enters the mix?





	The Best Way to Start the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Okay everyone! This is it! My first original idea! (ironically, not the first to be posted :p) It occurred to me that all of my fics were inspired by something I read or saw and I just felt it was time to come up with an idea on my own. Hence the vast amounts of smut in this fic XD enormous thanks to unadulteratedstorycollector for not letting me give up on this story! You are amazing, sweetie! And to phdmama and Elly for beta'ing! You were both so helpful! This story would not be legible if not for you two!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters or locations.

Groaning, Harry rolled over, rummaging behind himself for his blanket — somehow, he always managed to kick it off, during the night — but came up empty-handed. Fucking hell, why was it so cold, in the first place? 

He glared, bleary-eyed, at his bedside table, then frowned. Summoning his glasses, he examined the contents again. He must have fallen asleep in Draco's bed; that photograph of Narcissa definitely did not belong to Harry. 

That explained the cold, Harry thought. Two decades in damp, dreary dungeons and a draughty manor house manifested themselves in a cold-blooded Slytherin who seemed to thrive in subarctic temperatures. Shivering, he dragged himself out of bed, resigned to starting his day. Which wasn't so bad, once he left the north pole. The tiny flat smelled of coffee and toast and Harry took a moment to appreciate the fact that Draco had finally learned to use the toaster. 

The flat was blissfully quiet, and Draco was stood leaning over the worktop in the kitchen, with his elbows propped on the surface, ankles crossed, and his arse stuck out behind him. He held a stripy rainbow mug — one of the bone china mugs he insisted was a necessity — and a small plate with the remains of a triangle of toast rested at his elbow as he studied the Prophet, laid out before him. 

As Harry watched, Draco lifted the toast and bit neatly through bread and jam, licking persimmons from the corner of his mouth, then set it back on the plate. He sipped his coffee — black, Harry knew — and brushed a hand down his front to remove any crumbs. There were never crumbs. Everything about Draco was neat; his hair, pulled back in a stubby tail at the base of his neck; his clothes, pressed and wrinkle-free; his bedroom, clean and cold with a stack of books on the bedside table the only indication that anyone actually lived there… And Harry took great pride in mussing all of that. 

With that in mind, he padded into the room, paused behind Draco, and curled one hand around his hip, slotting his own against that arse. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he murmured, dipping his head to suckle at the long neck so brazenly on display before settling his chin on Draco's shoulder and inching his other hand up to tug at the band taming his hair. 

“Morning, Harry,” Draco replied dutifully, and flipped a page in the Prophet. He didn't even flinch when he felt the tug, only took another sip of coffee before continuing. “You're up early.”

“Yes, well,” Harry pouted, reaching forward to slip the mug from Draco's hand and passing him the band in return. “Some of us have trouble sleeping through the onset of frostbite.”

“Hmm.” Draco turned, eyeing Harry as he gulped the coffee and grimaced at the bitter flavor. 

“Bloody hell, how do you drink that?” He handed the mug back and moved to get his own. “You know, Draco, it wouldn't kill you to remove the cooling charms when you get up.” 

“Yes, and it wouldn't kill you to sleep in your own bed,” he sneered, bending his neck to return the band to its rightful place. Picking up his toast and shoving the last bite into his mouth, delicately, Draco carried the plate to the sink, setting his mug alongside it, and turned to face Harry. 

“Off to work?” he asked. Draco was still chewing, so nodded. “Okay. I'll come see you when I get in. We need to go over the evidence from the Walker case.” Another nod, and Draco stepped away, summoning his robes as he went. 

“Try not to be too late, Potter. Robards is on my arse for that blood work. I don't—” 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry interrupted, dismissing Draco's concerns with a wave of his hand. “Hey, you wanna grab take out tonight? We can hash out the details after work.” 

“Sorry, I can't.” Tucking his collar into place and straightening his sleeves, he turned to face Harry. “I've a date, tonight.”

Harry's head snapped up from where he was doctoring his coffee and he took in Draco's smug smirk and stiff posture. “Fuck off! Draco, that's great! Is it that bloke from the Department of Mysteries?”

“Kenneth, yes,” he replied with a curt nod. 

“Brilliant! When did this happen, then?” 

“I bumped into him at lunch, Monday, and we chatted a bit.” Draco paused, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves, and dropped his eyes to the floor. “He invited me to dinner, so here we are.” 

“Aww, he fancies you,” Harry sniggered, pleased when an angry flush darkened Draco's sharp cheekbones. “Go get ‘im, tiger.” 

“Oh, piss off,” he spat, spinning on his heel and marching through their crowded living room to the floo. “I'm going to work, you just stay here rotting your teeth with that swill.” 

“I love you, too, sweetie,” Harry grinned, laughing out loud when Draco threw him a rude gesture. “Wait, Draco!” he called just as Draco dipped his hand into the flowerpot on the mantle. “Wear the blue robes tonight. The ones that look like water?”

“What?” Draco paused, his his eyes widening, slightly. “Since when do you have a fashion sense?” 

Harry shrugged. “They look good on you.”

“I know that, but they're far too extravagant for a first date. I'm wearing the dove grey suit.” 

With that, he tossed a pinch of floo powder into the flames, and vanished among the shifting green. Chuckling fondly, Harry sipped his coffee and headed toward his own room to get ready for work. 

-

“Oh, fuck!” Draco gasped, arching his back and tossing his hair out of his face. “Harder, Harry!” 

The hands on his hips tightened, Harry's fingers digging into the flesh there. Draco knew there would be bruises, but he was well past caring. He was close, his hips pistoning, every breath ripped from his chest, and Harry was right there with him. He braced his feet on the mattress, thrusting up into Draco hard and knocking him forward with it. 

“Yes,” he grunted, pumping his hips as Draco bowed over him. “Come, Draco. Fuck!” 

Draco held himself still, his thighs aching with the effort, and his head fell forward. As he watched, his hair pool on Harry's damp chest. He rested his forehead against the dark skin, stretched taut over muscle and sinew, wrapping his hand around his own cock and tugging, frantically. 

It wasn't long before Harry's movements became erratic, his cock slamming into Draco with enough force to rock him forward as he fucked through his climax. A beat later, Draco's own orgasm tore through him, stiffening his shoulders and sending spasms down his spine. A shuddering cry fell from his lips just before Harry reared up, flipping their position, and covered them with his own. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasped, dropping his head to Draco's shoulder as his body continued to spasm. “Holy hell!”

“Likewise, Potter,” Draco panted. 

For a moment, he was content to just be, laying in bed, slowly suffocating under Harry Potter - would wonders never cease? But this was what he needed, what he sought upon crawling into Harry's bed, that morning. It had been a week since he'd cut Kenneth loose, and longer since he'd been shagged.

Inevitably, though, time reasserted itself, reminding him that he'd been awake for nearly an hour without sustenance, and they had plans. He shoved at Harry's shoulder, trying to squirm his way out from under him, to no avail. “Get off of me, you oaf. I'm filthy.”

Chuckling, Harry turned to his back as Draco climbed out of bed and bent to retrieve his wand. “Damn right, you are,” he grinned, settling his hands behind his head. Green eyes roved over Draco as he cast a mild scourgify over his chest and belly, then Harry gestured toward the wand. “Do me, too, will you?”

Draco smirked, aiming another cleaning charm, this time at Harry. “Maybe later,” he quipped, tugging on a pair of worn denims that weren’t his. “Come on, we should get going.”

He groaned, but rolled away from the center of the bed as Draco made his way to the door. Scourgify would do in a pinch, but he needed an actual shower. 

Swiping a hand out to grasp at his hips, Harry chuckled when Draco danced out of his reach. “Don't use all the hot water,” he chided. 

As Draco watched, Harry stretched and wandered down the corridor toward the kitchen, obviously comfortable in his own skin. With a shake of his head, he slipped into the bathroom and turned the knobs on the shower all the way up, sending steam billowing into the small room. When he emerged from his own room, thirty minutes later, clean and dressed for the day, the aroma of sausage drifted through the little flat. 

“That smells heavenly,” he groaned, slipping into the kitchen behind Harry to reach for his favorite mug, already waiting for him on the worktop. 

“It's just about ready,” Harry mumbled around a mouthful of toast. 

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. “Don't talk with your mouth full, Potter.”

It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and it wouldn't be the last. That was how this started, after all. They'd been foisted together in eighth year, forced to share a room, as well as lessons. They made the best of it, of course, even becoming something resembling friends by midterm. But, the stress of the situation eventually got the better of Draco. 

When Harry walked in that afternoon, chomping on a mouthful of sweets while trying to ask if he was interested in a pick-up match, Draco snapped. Fuck it, he thought. He needed the release and Harry always was an easy target. 

“I'm sorry, were you speaking?” he drawled, arching one brow in disdain. “I'm finding it difficult to focus on anything but the excess of half masticated gelatin attempting to escape your—”

“Mouf?” Harry interrupted with a gummy grin. “‘Ee, Mowfoy.” He paused, swallowing a good portion of the sweets. The remaining jelly slugs bulged in his cheeks but, thankfully, left his tongue free to form words. “I didn't realise you paid so much attention to my mouth.”

Draco scoffed. He didn’t pay attention to— Okay, maybe he did, but not the way Harry wa— Damn it, that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Schooling his expression to one of haughty disapproval, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, well, I can see how any attention is appealing to you, Saint Potter.”

“Oh, come on, Malfoy.” He stepped forward, crowding into Draco’s space and licking the last traces of gelatin from his lips with an exaggerated leer. Draco’s breath caught, a tinny ringing sounding in his ears as he watched that tongue drag along Harry’s plump bottom lip. “You know you want me.”

Startled, he averted his gaze, quickly. Harry was only teasing, after all, and two could play at that game. He wrinkled his brow, tapped one finger against his bottom lip, and eyed Harry, thoughtfully. “You know, you’re right. I don’t why it’s taken me so long to realise…”

“Tosser,” Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“No, no, Potter, you’re definitely onto something here.” Reaching forward, he caught Harry’s robes, keeping him in place when he would have turned away. “Merlin knows I could use the distraction.”

“Shove off, Malfoy.”

Maybe he took it a tad too far… Harry actually looked a little annoyed. Well, that never stopped Draco, before. “Hey now, this was your idea, I’m just saying-”

“Joke all you want,” Harry growled, bending close to Draco’s face, gaze holding him in place. “We both know you wouldn’t be able to stomach one kiss.”

Something flashed through his eyes, sharp and dangerous. Draco probably should have backed away but, frankly, it was the most fun he’d had since… well, before the war. Harry talked a big game, but he would crumble when push came to shove. 

“What's the matter, Malfoy, scared?” Harry whispered, breath hot against Draco's skin. 

Leaning closer still, Draco hovered his lips an inch from Harry’s. He could smell the lingering sweetness of jelly slugs and, under it, something dark, musky. Staring into amused emerald eyes, he forgot all pretense, forgot the joke of it. In that moment, one he would never forget in the years to come, Draco wanted.

“You wish, Potter,” he breathed, watching Harry’s eyes widen.

In a heartbeat, Harry lunged forward, pressing his lips to Draco's, grasping at his robes. His tongue traced the line of Harry’s lips, pleased when they opened, then stroked along his, seeking. 

Together, they had fallen to the bed with twin groans, limbs tangling, breaths mingling, and the rest was… 

“Why must you do that to perfectly good coffee?” Draco snipped, wincing when Harry added his third spoonful of sugar. 

History. 

“Tastes better this way.”

“I'm sure,” Draco glared. 

Harry chuckled, pulling the skillet off the hob and tilting the sausages onto a plate. Setting it on the table, he pecked a kiss to Draco's cheek. “Okay, I'd better shower. Are you waiting or do you want to just meet up at Luna’s?”

Draco sat, spearing two links with his fork and waving absently to Harry. “I'll meet you there, I need to go by the Manor. And don't drown in there, Potter!” he shouted after him. “It's your turn to collect Teddy.”

-

More frustrated than he could remember being in some time, Harry slammed through the front door of the tiny flat, and immediately regretted it. Draco, obviously curled up on the sofa moments before, jolted upright. Rubbing at his eyes, something he’d never do if he was fully awake, he blinked up at Harry.

“Bad date?” he asked.

Irrationally, Harry felt tears sting at the back of his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to force them back. He hated dating. It wasn't as if he even liked the bloke, but it was still disappointing. “The worst,” he answered, voice muffled by his hands.

Yawning, Draco felt around for the remote and hit the power button, then leaned back against the sofa, patting the cushion beside him. “Come here, sit down.”

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, drawing out the word, and dropped himself beside Draco. “Of all the twats in this city, I had to pick that one.”

His face still soft with sleep, Draco dropped his head to Harry’s shoulder and mumbled, “That bad?”

“That bad,” Harry assured him, sliding his arm around Draco’s shoulders. 

“Worse than Julian? Wasn't he the bloke who-” 

Harry groaned, interrupting him. He didn't need to think about that particular date. “No. No one is worse than Julian. He just- I don't know, talked about himself the whole time. And, you know, he was staring at the scar.”

“Pft,” Draco snorted. “You know you love the attention, O’ Chosen One.”

“Why do I keep doing this to myself?” Harry sighed. “Why did I decide not to use glamours?” 

“I don’t know, Harry. But you need to get laid. You’re becoming irritating.” His voice was slurring a little, so Harry ignored the insult. Draco was never his nicest just after waking.

“Oh, I slept with him,” he scoffed. “That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? The selfish bastard came first and refused to finish me off.”

“What a prick,” Draco agreed, yawning, and shifted closer, dropping a hand on Harry’s thigh.

Harry sighed, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. “Yeah. Oh well, I'll be fine. I have my hand, tonight.”

“Mmm, you have more than that,” Draco murmured, tilting his head until his lips grazed Harry's neck, just below his ear. His hand moved up, slowly, to cup Harry's already half-hard cock. “There's no reason for you to resort to masturbation.”

“D-Draco, no, you're half-asleep.” But Harry moaned, hips canting up, into the touch and his arm tightened around Draco's shoulders. “I can take care— ah! I can take care of myself. Fuck, Draco!”

Draco's hand massaged his cock, alternately squeezing and pressing until it was stiff, straining the seams of his jeans. At his throat, Draco licked a long, hot stripe from collarbone to ear, taking the lobe between his lips and suckling, nibbling. 

“Shit, okay,” Harry agreed, as if Draco had asked permission. He nodded frantically, his eyes falling shut. “Okay, yes. Do whatever the fuck you want, Jesus Christ!”

“Whatever I want?” Draco asked, his voice low, sensual, in Harry's ear. “Anything?” 

“Anything,” Harry promised, and meant it. He rocked his hips against the hand still holding him, spreading his legs to allow more access. “Please, Draco, just—” 

Pressing one last kiss to Harry's neck, he pulled back and away, removing his hand and rising from the sofa. Harry's eyes flew open, blinking rapidly, but he relaxed when they landed on Draco. He lowered himself between Harry's legs, a hand braced on either knee. 

His eyes locked on Harry's, Draco slid his palms slowly up, firm strokes that bypassed his groin, circling around to his hips, instead. There, he hooked his fingers in the belt loops and tugged, forcing Harry's arse lower, his back to slump against the the cushions behind him. 

“Did he put his mouth on you?” Draco asked, lazily flicking open Harry's flies. Dragging the zip down, carefully, he traced the curve of hip bones back up and slipped his fingers under the hem to push the stiff material down. “Did he even bother to taste you?” 

Harry's ears were ringing, his focus narrowed to the sensations bombarding his system. Draco's voice, soft and sultry; his hands, firm and sure; the rough drag of denim, the soft brush of skin. It was all he could do to gasp at each new touch. 

“Harry,” Draco asked again. “Did he put his mouth on you? Did he suck your cock?” 

“Wha—” Harry shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain. “No, no, he didn't suck my cock… Please, Draco!”

Chuckling, Draco yanked the jeans down further, over Harry's hips, and out from under his legs, freeing Harry's cock to the chill air of the living room. “And you didn't come?” he asked, clucking his tongue soothingly. “You poor thing.”

Harry nodded, mindless and straining, his cock throbbing between his legs while Draco kept talking, that smooth drawl washing over him, seducing him. He withdrew to peel the denim down Harry's legs, pausing to remove his shoes and socks before sweeping the jeans to the side and sliding his hands back up Harry's thighs, this time over skin. 

“And it was definitely him his fault?” he asked, his hands circling the base of Harry's cock, but still not touching it. “But that means he fucked you, doesn't it?” 

Without warning, Draco hooked his hands under Harry's knees, lifting his legs and exposing him to his shrewd eye. A little disoriented, Harry spread his hands flat on the cushions on either side of himself, to regain his balance, then propped his heels on Draco's shoulders, flexing his toes when they slipped on his silky pyjamas. 

“Ah, yes,” Draco murmured. Tenderly, he circled the ring of muscle at Harry's opening, dragging a moan from him. “Yes, he's definitely been here…” Whispering a spell, he pressed in, slowly. “Merlin, you're still loose.”

In the next moment, he buried two slick fingers to the hilt and surged forward, finally giving Harry's cock the attention it craved. Harry gasped, panting and whimpering under the onslaught. Draco's fingers worked in time with the bobbing of his head, the swirling of his tongue, spearing into Harry again and again. 

Breathless, Harry wound his own fingers into the platinum hair, still mussed from sleep, his heels digging into Draco's shoulders and his head thrown back as far as his position allowed. He keened when Draco added a third finger, twisting them together until they hit that little ball of nerves, deep inside him. 

“Draco!” he cried, arching his back. “Draco, please! For the love of God, fuck me!” 

Draco groaned, stilling his head with Harry's cock lodged just inside the opening of his throat. The vibration sent a tingle up Harry's spine and he tangled his hands in Draco's soft hair, pulling harder than he intended. 

“Fuck, Draco, I'm gonna come. Please!” he begged, practically sobbing. “I want you in me. I want to feel you. Please!” 

Finally, finally, Draco moved, sucking up and off his cock and sliding his fingers from Harry's fluttering hole. He scrambled to lower the silk pyjama bottoms baring his flushed cock to Harry's view, if only for a moment, before he cast another lubrication spell and lined himself up against Harry's entrance. 

“I don't know why you bother fucking someone who isn't going to do it properly, Potter,” Draco scolded, pressing forward, inching the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle. “I bet he made you pay for dinner, too, didn't he?” 

Moaning, Harry rocked his hips in an attempt to draw Draco in, to make him move faster. “Draco!” 

“Didn't he?” he repeated, stilling his hips altogether and peering at Harry through the dark. “He made you pay for dinner, topped you, and didn't even have the decency to make you come. Right?” 

“Yes! Yes, right! Please, Draco, move!” Desperate, Harry lunged forward, gripped Draco's hips, and pulled. Draco stumbled forward, his cock sliding in halfway before he caught himself with a hand on Harry's chest. “Fuck, yes!” Harry hissed. 

“Now, now,” Draco tsked, righting himself. “You said I could do whatever I want, Harry.” Slowly, he pulled back, until just the tip of his cock rested inside the tight channel. “I want to drive you mad.”

“You do, Draco. Fucking God, you do!” 

He rolled his hips, inching back in. “I want to make you beg,” he continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. 

“I am!” Harry cried, his hands scrambling for purchase on the sofa. “Please, please, Draco!” 

With an inelegant grunt, Draco snapped his hips forward, driving his cock home and startling a whimpering sob from Harry. Withdrawing, achingly slow, he did it again, and again, setting a bruising pace and ripping guttural, primal sounds from Harry's throat. 

Apparently past words, himself, Draco leaned forward, capturing Harry's mouth and swallowing the sounds still bursting from it. His hands mapped Harry's chest, pausing to tweak his nipples, raking nails down his sides. All the while, he pumped into Harry with exhilarating speed and force. 

“Draco,” Harry gasped, looping his arms over Draco's shoulders. “Harder, please! I'm so close.”

Draco reared back, buried his cock in Harry's arse and held it there while he shifted positions, propping one knee on the sofa, under Harry's leg. His cock shifted, as well, stroking against the walls of Harry's arse and dragging over his prostate. Harry arched into it, straining, his breath trapped in his lungs as he tried to get closer, to get more. 

But Draco was pulling away, again, and slamming back in, at the new angle. And Harry was lost. A babbling mess, he could do nothing, would do nothing but take it, shivering with pleasure, whimpering into his own flesh when he threw one arm over his face. He could feel the explosion building, the unbearable pressure in his loins forcing its way through him. 

Hot, slender fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and Harry shouted, coming in long, thick ropes across his belly. He froze, his whole body clenched around Draco, who continued thrusting, his hips pistoning, fucking through Harry's orgasm and juddering with the onset of his own. 

“Fucking hell, Harry!” Draco groaned, stilling deep inside Harry, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself, his hands fisted around Harry's hips to hold him close. 

Nearly boneless, Harry reached up and pulled Draco toward him and into a hot, desperate kiss that was more teeth than tongue. “Oh, God, Draco,” he panted. 

Finally empty, Draco slumped forward over Harry, his softening cock sliding out of him, his chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. Harry lifted his hands and dropped them onto Draco's back, sliding them in slow circles over the smooth pyjamas, still heated from his skin. 

“How do you sleep in this temperature?” he asked, affecting a shiver. “Aren't you freezing?” 

“Comfortably, thank you.” Levering himself onto his elbows on Harry's chest, Draco ignored his wince and continued to his feet. Once he righted his pyjamas, tucking himself out of sight, he cast a quick scourgify over Harry, then offered his hand. “As do you, I'll have you know. Once you stop whinging.”

Grinning, Harry accepted the hand but, instead of standing, used it to jerk Draco back down, into his lap. At the outraged squawk, Harry laughed and wrapped his arms around him, stretching out on the sofa and settling Draco beside him. 

“Thank you, Draco,” he muttered, his eyes falling closed as soon as they stilled. 

“You're welcome, scarhead,” Draco sighed and, for a moment, Harry thought he felt lips on that scar before he drifted to sleep. 

-

“Potter, put the biscuits down.”

“What biscuits?” Harry asked, his jaw stretched in a wide yawn. He walked behind Draco, tapping his shoulder to distract him while he slipped the package into their trolley. “I don't have any biscuits.”

Draco bent to retrieve the package and slapped it against Harry's chest. “You promised me a double batch of chocolate chip biscuits last week and you've yet to produce them,” he scolded, ignoring Harry's pout. “If I don't get biscuits, you don't get biscuits. Put them back.”

“Come on, Draco,” he whinged. “You know I'll share.”

“No,” Draco said, walking away with an air of finality. 

It was Harry’s fault he liked those stupid biscuits in the first place and the least he could do was make them when Draco asked. Well, when Draco subtly left the ingredients in the kitchen, in plain sight. It didn’t matter; Harry said he would bake them, and he hadn’t. Draco intended to get those biscuits.

“Come along, Potter,” he called, already half an aisle ahead. “And quit pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Harry insisted. “I’m a grown man, for fuck’s sake… I’m brooding.”

“Ah, I see. Brooding.”

“Yes, brooding.” Crossing his arms over his chest as he fell into step beside Draco, Harry poked out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pou- er, brood.

“Yes, I can see that.” Draco stopped in the chilled dairy aisle, gaze sweeping over the selection of milks and cheeses. “How about you stop doing that and help me, yeah?”

“You need help picking up milk?” Harry asked, then reached forward and plucked a pint of full fat milk from the shelf. Grinning, he set it in the trolley and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Anything else, dear?”

His eyes trained on Harry’s, Draco lifted the milk and returned it to the shelf, selecting an organic, semi-skimmed pint, instead. He smirked when Harry groaned, dropping his head forward in exasperation. Satisfied, he turned his attention to cheese.

“I don’t need help with the shopping,” he said. With a deep breath, he decided it was time to get this ball rolling. “I don't want a birthday party, this year, Harry.”

Harry sniggered. “You dragged me out of bed on a Saturday morning for that? Draco, that isn't news; you never want a birthday party.”

“And yet, I always get one.” He stopped in the bakery section to select a loaf of crusty bread for dinner, sighed when he turned to find Harry had slipped a loaf of chocolate babka in the trolley. It was worse than shopping with Teddy, who at least begged for all of the sweets he wanted. Returning the babka to the shelf, he glared at Harry. “I mean it. I need you to help reign in Blaise and Pansy.”

“Why me?” Harry pouted, eyeing the babka with sad eyes.

“Because they listen to you.”

“Since when?” 

“Since forever. Please, just do it?” Draco knew, if he said he didn't want a party, Harry would make sure he got one. Even after all these years, he was still trying to save Draco from himself. Which was why he wasn't a Slytherin. 

“Okay,” Harry sighed, slumping his shoulders and exaggerating his pout. 

“I mean it, Harry.”

“I said okay, Draco. If you don't want a party, you won't have a party.”

“Good.” There, plenty of time for them to start planning. Turning the trolley toward the produce section, he called over his shoulder, “And quit pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Harry argued, again. 

“Brilliant. Now, what’s on the list for vegetables?”

“Kale and asparagus,” he rattled off from memory, and Draco smiled.

-

“Harry?” Ron called from the doorway. “You decent? And alone?” 

“I'm in my office, Ron,” Harry replied. “Of course I'm decent.”

“And alone?” he repeated, after a pause, and Harry tossed his quill to his desk, abandoning work for the foreseeable future. 

“How long are you going to keep asking that? Draco is in his lab, you coward.” Scrubbing his hands over his face, he peered through his fingers as Ron tentatively entered the office. “I don't know what your problem is, it's not like you were the one who was starkers,” he admonished, glaring. 

“No,” Ron agreed, nodding sagely. “That was you… and Malfoy. I'm traumatised, mate.”

“We live together,” Harry protested. “And sleep together. What exactly is surprising about this?” 

“Could be the naked on the couch bit.”

“Right, well, maybe you should quit barging into our flat, d’you think?” 

Ron opened his mouth to argue but, at Harry's raised eyebrow, closed it with a snap. “Noted,” he conceded, dropping his gaze to the floor and shuffling his feet, sheepishly. “We still on for lunch, mate? Hermione went ahead to get a table.” 

“Shit,” Harry groaned, flicking his eyes to the clock against the far wall of his office. “I got carried away. Yes, let's go before someone decides to keep me here.”

Lunch with Ron and Hermione. In the last two weeks, one or more of them was forced to cancel, but not this time. They agreed, they needed this. This time was sacred; it was separate from Sunday dinners at the Burrow, or weekly pub nights with all of their friends. It was even different from the occasional quiet dinner at Ron and Hermione's little flat, where toys littered the floor and, halfway through dinner, Rose would start fussing. 

Aside from film night with Draco and Teddy, this was his favorite routine. 

“So,” Ron began, winding through groups of muggles as they headed toward the Leaky. “You're still doing this thing with Malfoy?” 

“What?” Pausing as he stuffed his wand securely out of sight, Harry furrowed his brow, peering through the dappled mid-morning sunlight. “What are you talking about?” 

Ron rolled his eyes. “You know, the thing. Where you fuck every other day but pretend you aren't dating him.” He dodged a bloke and his dog, grinning at Harry. 

 “I am not dating Draco,” he insisted. When the flow of traffic ceased, Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and joined the throng crossing the street. 

“Yeah!” Ron exclaimed, jogging to keep up. “That's it! So you're still doing that?”

“Ron,” Harry began, exasperated. 

It wasn't a secret that he and Draco slept together; they'd been doing it since that first time, at Hogwarts. Whenever the mood struck, they'd fall into bed, or wherever, together.

“I am not now, nor have I ever dated Draco Malfoy,” he ground out. When they reached the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, he held the door for Ron, standing aside to let him pass. “What on earth gave you the impression I was?” 

“Oh, nothing,” Ron snorted. “Just the fact you've been in love with him since eighth year.”

“Oh, please!” Harry scoffed. “Have you been reading your mum's romance novels?” 

“Hey, now. Some of those are quite nice. But I don't need a romance novel to tell me you're head over heels.”

Another customer took advantage of the door Harry still held open, shuffling inside with a nod of thanks and sidestepping Ron. Harry released the door, stepping inside. 

“I'm not—” 

“I walked in on the two of you cuddled up this morning. That's the third time in as many weeks. What happened to the bloke you were seeing last month?”

Hermione waved from a table in the far corner of the pub, finally shifting them. “He was a prick,” Harry ground out, not for the first time. 

“Okay. And what are you doing tonight? Hello, ‘Mione.” ducking to press a kiss to the top of her head, Ron took a seat beside her and looked expectantly up at Harry.”

“What's going on?” Hermione asked as Harry hugged her shoulders, dropping a hand to the mound of her belly. She smiled fondly and kiss his cheek. “Hello, Harry.”

“Harry's telling us his plans for tonight,” Ron said, still eyeing Harry as he stole a chip from Hermione's plate. 

“Oh, do you have plans? Isn't it a bit early in the week for that?” Hermione swatted at Ron's hand as he reached for another chip, never taking her eyes from Harry's. 

“I'm having dinner with Draco,” he admitted, sinking into his own chair, and winced when Ron cracked a smug grin. “No, Ron, don't look at me like that! We're working on a case and we fucking live together! Am I supposed to avoid him?” 

“What about this weekend?” he asked, pointedly. Flushed, Harry mumbled his reply. “What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't quite—”

“Friday is movie night with Draco and Teddy, same as every weekend,” he all but shouted. “And so what? We're friends. We have sex, we take care of a kid together, and we're friends.”

“Yeah, Harry, I know what you mean.” Ron's grin went lopsided and he caught Hermione's eye, sighing. “Sounds familiar.”

“Th-that's not the same, Ron,” Harry sputtered, horrified when Hermione adopted the same wistful expression. “You two, y-you’re made for each other. Draco's just— We're just—” 

“Just what?” Hermione asked, her dark eyes narrowing. Harry could sense a lecture coming on, but Ron jumped in before she could start in on him. 

“Killing time?” he asked. “Having a laugh?” 

“No! Well, yes, but— it's not like that.”

“Where do you see yourself in a year?” Hermione asked. “Five years? Ten years?” 

Fuck. Harry groaned; Hermione and Ron made a spectacular team, but he was rarely on this side of it. At least, he hadn’t been in some time. “What is this, a job interview?” 

“Humor me.” Her expression stern, Hermione folded her hands across her belly and waited. 

“Married with children,” Harry deadpanned after a few stubborn moments. “How the fuck should I know? When are you two going to get married?”

“Hey, I already told you, we're waiting until after the baby is born,” Ron countered. “Don't turn this around on us. We're trying to help. Think about it. What are you doing in ten years?” 

Groaning, Harry closed his eyes. They were both mad. He and Draco were friends, had been for years. That was a miracle, in and of itself. 

When he'd returned to Hogwarts, after the war, he was sure they'd end up killing each other. No one was more surprised than Harry when he snorted a laugh at some snarky comment Draco muttered under his breath, about the asinine directions they were given in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The new professor was a joke; any eighth year could have done a better job of it. 

Thinking of that day, and those that followed — Draco's sly jokes, the way he slid his eyes to the side to see what reaction they provoked, the way his hair fluttered in front of them, doing nothing to hide his amusement — Harry's mind flooded with other images. Laughing with Draco as they prepared dinner, as they watched some ridiculous kid's movie with Teddy, as they fucked. 

He could imagine what Draco would look like in ten years. His face lined with laughter and worry, his hair as soft as ever. His eyes, sparkling with mischief as he took Harry, stormy and blown wide with lust as Harry entered him. 

But, more than that, he could picture coming home to him, being with him. In a house, where Draco had a little lab set up in the basement and Harry had an office where he could display his growing broom collection. Where Draco would come to find him, late in the evening, dozing at his desk, and drag him to bed. Where Teddy had his own room and a garden big enough to run wild and free, maybe with a dog or—

“Fuck.”

“Exactly,” Ron grinned as Hannah appeared at his side to take their order. 

-

The quiet roar of cutlery on china dishes and muted conversation came rushing in as their waiter appeared and Draco dispelled the silencing charm around their table. The fit bloke in a trim tuxedo placed a plate before each of them before asking if they needed anything else, with a smile that was more than polite. Draco glanced around the table before assuring him they did not, and the waiter retreated, but not before shooting him a suggestive wink. Draco watched the man go, unabashedly staring at his arse as he sauntered away between the tables. 

Not bad, he thought. Though, as always, not as nice as Harry's. 

Shaking himself mentally, he refocused on his friends, and returned his attention to them as Pansy recast the charm. “So, how's the planning going?” he asked, cutting into his crepe and coaxing a mouthful onto his fork. Lifting it to his lips, he eyed Pansy, then Blaise, before settling his gaze on Greg. “Making progress, I trust.”

Greg sputtered for a moment before Pansy laid a protective hand on his forearm. “Yes, Draco. The summer showing at the gallery is progressing nicely. We're still looking for a few new artists to showcase, but I anticipate we'll find them.”

Beside her, Greg relaxed and, on his other side, Blaise smirked. “You don't have anyone in mind, do you?” he asked, his deep baritone annoyingly smooth and even. 

“Not precisely,” Draco said, frowning. “Mother has taken more photos, but I don't believe she's ready to begin showing.” 

They were quick, his Slytherin compatriots, but Draco was patient. Pansy would tell him about the birthday party. She always did, unless Greg confessed, first. Turning his attention back to him, Draco tried again, smirking as he watched his friend shove the food around on his plate without taking a single bite. 

“What have you been up to lately, Greg?” 

“I- I've been, er-” 

“He's been helping us with the gallery,” Blaise interrupted without missing a beat, and relief washed over Greg's face. 

“When we can pull him away from Luna, of course,” Pansy added. “Greg has been wonderful with the heavy lifting.”

“Really?” Draco asked through his teeth, bared in a tight smile. “I suppose the gallery is doing well, then?” 

“Oh, yes,” Blaise nodded, licking syrup from his fork. “Splendidly.”

Draco sighed. There was no point in trying; he should have planned this interrogation for earlier in the morning. They had a firm leash on Greg, and Pansy wasn't nearly flustered enough to beg him for help, just yet. He'd give it a month. She would be ripping her hair out by the last week. 

“Good,” he said, changing the subject. “And how is Luna doing?” 

-

Harry stretched when the credits began rolling up the screen, careful not to dislodge the head on his shoulder. Teddy was sprawled on his other side, asleep, so he summoned a blanket and draped it over him. Rising carefully and slipping his arms under Draco's knees, he lifted him off the sofa. 

“What the—” Draco squawked, and Harry rushed to shush him. 

“It's okay, it's just me.”

“What are you doing, Potter?” Draco asked, but his arms slid around Harry's shoulders, laying his head against Harry’s chest, and mumbled sleepily. “I can walk to bed, prat.”

“I'm sure you can,” Harry agreed, chuckling. “But I can carry you there, too.”

Draco hummed, low in his throat, so Harry continued through the living room and down the corridor to their bedrooms. For a moment, he debated going into his own room, but thought better of it. Draco would surely melt without his cooling charms.  

Love, he thought, his mind still reeling. He was in love with Draco Malfoy. 

Not that realising it did him any favors. He often found himself staring at Draco, wondering what it would be like to actually date him. Would they even date? They already lived together, worked together, shopped together. Hell, they even ate three quarters of their meals together. 

But to sleep in the same bed for more than one drunken night at a time, to kiss him outside of sex, to come home to him with the knowledge that he was coming home to him. The idea was steadily taking root, growing until it was a dull ache in Harry's chest, wrapping around his heart with all the tenacity of Devil's Snare. 

Setting Draco on his bed and drawing the blankets up to his shoulders, Harry dropped a kiss on the top of his head and turned to leave. 

“Harry,” Draco murmured, catching his hand and halting his exit. “Where are you going?” 

“To bed,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Stay.”

For the life of him, Harry couldn't think of a good reason to refuse. Half asleep, still clutching his hand, Draco curled his whole body toward him and Harry broke, just a little. How could this man be so soft? Awake, he was all hard edges and prickly corners. He kept Harry on his toes, quick to throw out a barb or some mildly insulting, extremely clever joke. But this… This was a side of Draco that few saw and Harry knew how important it was. 

So, without argument, Harry rounded the bed, drew back the blankets, and climbed in behind him. Once he was also settled, he slid his arm around Draco's waist and scooted as close as he could, until he was pressed up against every inch of that warm, lean body. 

“How was the film?” Draco mumbled, laying his arm over Harry's. “I fell asleep.”

Harry chuckled. “I know. It was nice. They saved the day, defeated the villain, restored order. All those wonderful ending bits.”

“So it was clichéd, contrived, and completely unnecessary to the plot?” Yawning, Draco rolled over in the circle of Harry's arms and smirked up at him. 

“You would say that about a film you didn't even watch,” Harry said, squeezing him tighter for a moment and resisting the urge to tickle him. “It was a perfectly reasonable ending for Disney.”

“Ugh, that means there's going to be a sequel, doesn't it?” Groaning, Draco buried his head in Harry's neck and pretended to sob. “What is this world coming to?” 

In a mock-soothing gesture, Harry stroked his hand in small circles over Draco's back. “I know, baby. And, just think, next summer, Teddy's going to beg to see it, then you'll have to fall asleep halfway through. Ow!”

Draco released his flesh, flicking his tongue over the spot. 

“Did you bite me?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Is that what we're doing, now? Biting?” Rolling until he lay flush on top of Draco, he gave in to the urge and dug his fingers into his sides, planting his knees to maintain his leverage. 

“No, no, Harry, stop!” Draco cried, his hands flying up to push at Harry's shoulders. “Merlin, are you twelve?” 

“As opposed to five? Who bites?” 

“Fine! Fine! I'm sorry!” He was gasping for breath, writhing under Harry and bucking his hips in a futile attempt to dislodge him. “I'm sorry, okay? No more biting!” 

“Promise?” Harry asked, stilling his fingers and peering through the dark in the direction of Draco's face. 

“Yes, fucking hell!” He rested his hands on Harry's shoulders, the long column of his neck just visible, his head thrown back against his pillows. Then he groaned, shifting his hips against Harry's and clenching his fists in the soft t-shirt he wore. 

Harry's breath caught, sensation coming in slow waves. The soft slide of Draco's pyjama bottoms against his bare thighs. The warmth of the skin his fingers still clutched, where the top rode up during his attack. The scent of him, dark and rich from sleep, the sound vibrating through his throat. The hardness sliding against his own rapidly swelling cock. 

Overwhelmed, Harry fell forward. He ghosted his lips over Draco's pulse point, dragging higher, over his Adam's apple, along the sharp line of his jaw. When he reached Draco's pliant lips, they opened under his with a sigh. 

Taste joined the mix, a heady concoction that Harry would willing lose himself in. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, drawing everything he could from that connection, pouring everything he had into it; all of the love, all of the tenderness and joy and sheer happiness he felt, just being with Draco. Words would never be enough for everything Harry wanted to tell him. 

Slowly, he slid his hands up the narrow torso, pausing to brush his thumbs over pebbled nipples and caught the material. Pulling it along until further progress forced Draco's arms up, over his head, he mapped every inch of the pale flesh he already knew. 

“Harry,” Draco murmured when Harry broke the kiss, eager to taste more of him. He trailed his lips down, closing them over one nipple and Draco sighed, again. “You're in a mood, aren't you?” 

“You could say that,” Harry whispered, then flicked the tip of his tongue over the sensitive bud, thrilling when Draco gasped. “You're beautiful, have I ever told you that?” 

“You can't even see me.”

“But I have,” he countered, sliding lower, the muscles quivering under his tongue the only encouragement he needed. “And there are ways to see in the dark…”

“Was that supposed to be- ahhh!” Draco broke off, his hand flying to Harry's head, burying itself in his hair when Harry tugged the pyjama bottoms down to nibble at his pelvis. “Was that supposed to be poetic, Potter?” he finished, but the bite of his words was dulled by the breathy moan that trailed from Harry's name. 

“Perhaps.” Pulling the material lower, inch by inch, Harry followed, tasting each bit of skin he bared, nosing into the soft curls at the apex of long, slender legs. “Maybe I'll show what I mean, sometime.”

Without giving him time to answer, Harry dragged his lips up the shaft of velvety smooth skin, stretched taut over the straining organ. Mewling cries echoed around the room when he took the head into his mouth, suckling at the tip, rolling his tongue under the foreskin to catch the fluid leaking from it. 

Then Harry released him, pushing the material of Draco’s sleep pants down lower and continuing his path. Draco reared up and dragged his shirt over his head, then reached for Harry's. Harry let him, lifting his arms to help him along, then returned to his task; pressing a ring of kisses to Draco's kneecap. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” Draco asked, flopping back against the pillows. He gasped when Harry curled his tongue under his knee and swirled it there. “This is ridiculous, just - ah! Just fuck me!”

Harry enjoyed that reaction, so he did it again,then moved lower to scrape his teeth along the bridge of Draco's foot. Pleased when Draco cried out again, his hips squirming, Harry released his foot and began the return trip, sucking his whole cock into his mouth in one breath. 

“Harry!” Draco screamed, his back arching off the bed, and Harry waved a hand to shut the door; there was no need to wake Teddy. “Fuck, yes Harry!” 

He sucked off slowly, dragging his lips over the heated flesh until Draco was quivering beneath him, before lowering again, just as slowly. Draco's hips juddered, rocking minutely, and Harry braced his hands around them, not to still him, but to move with him. In tandem, they rocked. When Draco bucked forward, Harry pulled back, when Draco's hips dipped, Harry followed, maintaining the slow slide until he was begging, his hands limp against Harry's shoulders. 

“Please,” he whimpered. “Harry, please, I can't take it…”

Taking pity on him, Harry pulled away, just long enough to coat his fingers with conjured lube, then slid back down and swallowed around the glans in his throat. When Draco cried out, he trailed his fingers through the cleft of his arse, spreading the lube and circling the tight ring of muscle. He waited for Draco to relax into the new sensation, for the instinctive little movements to begin again, before pressing into him. Draco bucked back, seeking that pressure, and Harry pulled away, circling the opening again. 

“Fuck you,” Draco whined, his hips jerking, hands clenching around their tangled fistful. “Fuck me, please Harry, I can't- I can't-”

Giving in, Harry slipped the finger back in, one smooth stroke, until his knuckles pushed against Draco's slick arse cheeks. When he found the little bundle of nerves that had Draco arching his back and sobbing encouragement, he increased his suction and massaged his prostate with the very tip of his finger. 

The tension in Draco's legs was the only warning he got, so Harry took advantage of it. He sealed his lips around the base of Draco's cock, added a second finger, and alternated the movement of his fingertips until Draco was gasping out his orgasm, pouring himself down Harry's throat and stretching his limbs with the force of it. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered.

Swallowing the last of Draco’s release, Harry sucked off of him, slowly, and looked up. A strip of moonlight fell across his chest and part of his face, reflecting off the slightly wild eyes, making them seem brighter. The hands in his hair flexed, pulling Harry closer and he crawled up Draco's body, careful to keep his fingers deep inside him; this wasn't over, not by a long shot. 

“I don't know what's gotten into you, Potter, but don't you ever do that to me, again,” Draco panted when they were laid out, side by side. 

“I can't promise that.”

“Try.”

By way of a response, Harry curled his fingers, grazing Draco's prostate before spreading them wide, stretching his opening. Draco released a choked cry, and lunged forward the last inch to capture Harry's lips. He did it again, spearing into him and scissoring his fingers to prepare him.

“You're a fucking bastard,” Draco whispered, crashing his lips to Harry's, over and over. 

If Harry wasn't already aware of the difference between this and their usual encounters, Draco's kisses would have taken care of that misconception. Where he was usually playful, he pushed, where he would tease, he took. The passion in his touch, hurried and desperate when he raked his hands down Harry's chest, ripping his pants down his hips in one quick sweep, was so much… more than anything they’d ever shared, before. 

“A selfish, fucking bastard,” Draco muttered, wrapping his fist around Harry's cock, already aching from neglect. “Just take what you want with no thought of what I want.”

“Tell me what you want,” Harry murmured, his lips brushing against Draco's, catching his panting breaths as they escaped in his haste to touch, to take. “Anything, baby, just tell me.”

“You. I- I want you. I want—” His words cut off on a moan when Harry latched his lips to the sensitive spot on his shoulder, just above his collar bone. “Fuck me, damn it!” he demanded with something terrifyingly close to a sob, his hips grinding onto Harry’s hand.

Shifting closer, Harry stilled Draco with the weight of his body, his fingers finally slipping free. His hips pumped, almost of their over volition, rutting his erection against Draco’s thigh, his hip, his own softened cock. Finally, he grasped Draco’s hips and aligned them to his own before rearing back and settling himself between those long, pale legs.

“Now, Harry!” Draco insisted, catching Harry’s hand when he began moving toward the tight, hot entrance again.

“Draco, I have to-”

“It’s enough, you’ve already done enough.”

Somehow, Harry doubted that, but his control was stretched thin and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. Nodding, he pulled his hand free and swiped it, once, between Draco’s cheeks with a whispered incantation, liberally spreading the slick lubricant. Draco watched him, silent, seemingly determined not to give anything away by his expression. His eyes, though, were a different story; the shifting, swirling grey, brightened to silver by the moonlight, betrayed his arousal, his impatience, even his affection.

“Potter,” he warned, voice low. 

Lining himself up with Draco’s entrance, Harry bent forward, covering his hands and taking his lips, again. Draco’s legs came up, wrapping around his waist and forcing the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle, into the slick heat of his body. Groaning, Harry thrust forward, rocking into him until he was completely sheathed and breathless.

“Fuck!” he cried, ripping his lips away. Dropping his forehead to Draco’s shoulder, his body rigid, he panted. “God, Draco, you’re perfect.”

“Harry,” Draco whimpered, again. He squirmed, his arms circling Harry’s shoulders, fingers grasping at the sweat-slicked muscles, and Harry's fingers tightened around his hips to hold him steady. “Harry, please, fucking move!” 

“Just- fuck- just wait a minute. I need-” In spite of his words, Harry withdrew, thrusting forward slowly. 

“Yes!” Draco moaned, arching his back into it. “More, more!” 

Propping himself on his elbows, his lips a breath from Draco's, Harry began a steady rhythm, pumping his hips with a kind of reverence. Draco rocked with him, trying to pick up the pace, but Harry wouldn't be rushed. He was going to draw as much from this as he could. 

With long, slow strokes, he watched Draco come apart beneath him. His arms fell from Harry's shoulders to twist in the bed sheets, his hair in disarray from tossing his head on the pillow, babbling pleas falling from his lips with every thrust. 

He was beautiful. 

Harry rose, changing the angle of his thrusts, to watch him. His chest rose and fell with each gasping breath, the smooth planes and sharp angles, pale skin stretched taut over lean muscle. His cock, hard again, was flushed and leaking and Harry closed a hand around it, pulling with the same slow, steady rhythm of his movements. 

Draco's breathing kicked up a notch, coming in hard gasps, and a whine began in the back of his throat. Grasping tighter, his thrusts erratic with his own impending orgasm, Harry increased his speed, his force, abandoning his agonizing pace and slamming into Draco. 

“Yes!” Draco sobbed, clinging and bucking against him. “Fuck, yes! Harry, I'm-” 

“Yes, come on. Come for me, baby.” 

Holding as tightly as he could to the pressure building in his groin, Harry pushed and pushed, watching Draco fall over that razor edge. He followed just behind, hips locked tight against Draco's arse, cock buried deep inside as it emptied into the pulsing heat, draining the last of Harry's strength and control along with it. 

Draco's arms came around him, catching him when he fell forward and holding him close. His hole still fluttered around Harry's cock, milking it of every last drop. As their breathing slowed, long, slender fingers traced patterns over his shoulders, their touch gentle, absent, as consciousness faded. 

-

“Draco, darling? Are you ill?”

“What?” Glancing up from the ledger he'd been studying before his mind wandered, Draco turned to the doorway of his father's study. From just inside, his mother was watching him cautiously. “No. No Mother, I'm fine.”

Her expression darkened, her pale eyes narrowing, and Draco flinched. He rarely bothered lying to his mother, but he didn't exactly know how to tell her that sex with Harry had taken an odd turn, recently. He wasn't complaining, of course, but it was… distracting. 

Sighing, he gave her a small smile. “I am not in any physical distress or danger,” he amended, pleased when relief crossed her face. 

“Something of a mental or emotional strain, then?” she asked, gliding into the room. “What's on your mind, darling?” 

“No,” he laughed. “I'm sorry, I can't discuss this with my mother.” He turned back to the ledger in a dismissive gesture he knew she'd ignore. 

“Ah, so this is about sex?” 

“Mother! Please-” 

“What about sex? You and Harry seemed quite happy together, the last time I saw you.” Appalled, all Draco could do was stare at his desk, his fingers tapping absently. “Although,” she continued. “I am beginning to wonder when you'll quit fooling around and get married.” 

“That's just it, Mother,” he snapped, spinning back around. “We aren't together. We're not going to be together, and we certainly aren't getting married.”

“Oh dear.”

“Right, so if you don't mind, I'd-”

“What happened?” 

“What happened?” he repeated, frowning. 

“Why aren't you together? You seem to like him a great deal.”

“I do,” Draco insisted. “He's one of my best friends.”

“Then he called it off?” 

“What? No. We've never been together, Mother.”

“Oh. Well, you certainly hid that fact well.” A knowing smirk twisted her lips and Draco groaned. “And why not, may I ask?” 

Draco sighed. It wasn't the first time he had to answer that very question, as he'd been asking it of himself for a week. With the way Harry was behaving, the decidedly gentle cast to their encounters, he often had to remind himself that they were just friends. Very close friends, granted, but only friends. 

“We don't want to be together,” he answered at last, and tried his best to make himself believe it. 

“Oh. Well, I suppose, if you aren't in love with him, there's no point in considering a relationship.” There was a sly glint in her eye that suggested she didn't believe him, but Draco chose to ignore it. 

“Precisely,” he said, with a curt nod. “Now, may I get back to the-” 

“Why is it causing you mental strain, if you aren't in love with him? Aren't you content with the way things are?”

He merely glared at her, satisfied when she lifted both hands in surrender. 

“I'll go, as you wish. I only came to tell you dinner will be ready at seven o'clock.”

“As always,” he smirked. 

“As always,” she agreed, nodding. Without another word, she swept from the room. 

For the next hour or so, Draco struggled to keep his focus on the estate books, but he frequently found his eyes wandering, unseeing. His mind was full of images of Harry; the way he laughed, the small smiles that lighted his face when he was lost in thought. Those viridescent eyes locked to his, Harry's hands gripping his as they came together, crashing into each other or sliding, silken, into that pleasurable abyss. No one else made Draco feel the way Harry did - a fact that frequently wreaked havoc on his love life. He'd almost learned to accept the fact that no one could compare, choosing to focus on other qualities, instead. 

Except, he thought now, no one compared there, either… 

Realisation dawned, and Draco winced. So, apparently he did love Harry. His mother would be impossible when she found out. Rising, he snapped the ledger shut. Damn the books, he had more important things to worry about. 

“Mother,” he called, striding down the corridor toward the drawing room where she spent her evenings.” Mother, I have to go.”

She poked her head out, a confused frown wrinkling her brow. “Draco, Mipsy will announce dinner any moment.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Pausing, he kissed her cheek before darting his eyes toward the receiving room. “I have to go, I need to speak with Harry.”

“I see,” she said with a knowing smile. “Very well. Give him my love, won't you?”

“Of course, Mother.” Along with his own. Smiling, he took off, all but running to the floo. 

-

Moaning, Harry shifted his body away from the brightness of the the fire that flared to life, bathing the living room in green. He couldn't wake up, now, or he'd never get back to sleep. That said, the heavy breathing filtered through his sleep-clogged ears, and Harry jerked around to find a breathless Draco rounding the coffee table, his gaze intent on Harry. 

“What are you doing home?” he asked, groggy and more than a little disconcerted at the intensity of those smoky eyes. “Is something wrong?” 

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Draco asked, sitting on the table and resting his elbows on his knees in a casual slouch. Draco never slouched. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“You don't look fine,” Harry said, eyeing him. He looked tired and annoyed. “You look like you're about to kill someone.”

“Well,” Draco laughed nervously. “I suppose that all depends on how you answer a couple of questions.”

“Shit. What did I do?” Harry dragged himself to a sitting position, wracking his brain, searching for any possible offensive he might have caused, a rule he might have broken. 

“Are you planning a birthday party for me?” Draco asked, halting his thoughts. 

“What?” Harry was torn between incredulity and relief, but he knew this wouldn't be the end. “Of course not!” he cried. “You said you didn't want one!” 

“I'm serious, Harry.” He scooted forward, clasped his hands together and eyed Harry earnestly. “I ask you not to every year, and I always get one. Are you planning a birthday party for me?” 

Harry didn't know how to answer. He did ask every year, but he always seemed to enjoy himself. Pansy said, years ago, that Draco only asked them not to because he knew they would throw a party if he said he didn't want one. “You're an easy mark, Potter,” she'd said with a smirk. 

Sucking in a breath, Harry met his eyes. Nodded. 

“Why?” Draco asked, not a hint of surprise on his face. 

“Because you deserve a birthday party.”

“That's bullshit, and you know it.” Now he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you do it, Harry?”

“Come on, Draco,” Harry said, trying to scoff. “You know how I feel about birthdays. I never had-” 

“Harry.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, the swirling grey darkening to storm clouds under pale lashes and furrowed brows. “Why can't you just tell me wh-”

“Because I love you, okay?” Harry whispered, lowering his eyes. “I want you to feel that, at least on your birthday.”

Draco's jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and his shoulders sagged. “You-” 

This was it. Draco was going to call off their unspoken arrangement. Really, Harry might as well admit it. “I love you,” he sighed, louder this time. “And you love the parties.”

“I do,” Draco agreed. “Harry, I-” 

“I know,” Harry interrupted, unable to listen to the words he knew were coming. “It's okay, I don't expect you to-” 

“Harry, I left my mother's house because I realised-” 

“Draco, please, just-” 

“Shut up, Harry, you pessimistic twat!”

Startled, Harry gaped at him. Pessimistic? 

“I don't think we should do this, anymore,” Draco went on, scowling. “This random shagging thing we do.”

Fuck, that hurt. Ducking his head, Harry willed back the tears pricking at the inside of his eyelids. “Of course,” he muttered. “I under-” 

“No, you don't bloody understand, Potter.” Reaching out, Draco wrapped both hands around Harry's knees, crowding into his personal space. The scent of him was a cloud around him and Harry inhaled deeply, nearly missing his next words. “I don't want to be the one you run to when you have dinner, and terrible sex, with a fucking arsehole! I don't want to sit at home waiting to see if you'll come back, knowing that you're fucking someone else if you don't. I don't want you to fuck anyone else. I don't want to fuck anyone else. Ever.”

His head shot up, eyes searching Draco's face, looking for some hint that he hadn't said what Harry heard. He couldn't breathe. “Wh-what are you saying?” he asked, swallowing around the lump in his throat. 

“I love you, Harry.” Draco paused, sucked in a breath and pushed it back out with a whoosh. “So it's just me, or nothing. I think I've shared you for long enough.”

Speechless, Harry did the only thing he could think to do. Wrapping a hand in the front of Draco's robes, he hauled him forward and crushed their lips together in a bruising, possessive kiss. Draco's arms came around him, instantly, hands grasping at his shoulders. 

“Good choice,” he panted, dragging his mouth away and locking his lips around Harry's collarbone for a moment before ordering, “Take me to bed, Potter.”

Harry dragged him onto the sofa. 

- 

Epilogue 

Smiling to himself, Draco looked down at Harry. He never realised how often he watched the man sleep until, finally, he was allowed to do it. Harry’s wild hair curled around his ears, in desperate need of a trim. Of course, Draco would never allow such a travesty, anyway. Soon, Harry would be able to tie it back and Draco awaited that day, impatiently. With nearly a month's worth of beard dusting his jaw, Harry had a somewhat rakish appearance that made his mouth water. 

Slowly, he drew the duvet back, greedily drinking in every inch of dark skin he revealed. In all the time since their first, in eighth year, Draco never tired of the smooth skin, the stark contrast between Harry's and his, or the way it reacted to his touch. Even in sleep, his back arched, his body heated, and he shifted closer. 

Months ago, Harry had taken Draco apart, buried himself so deeply in his heart that he would never be able to shake him loose, and Draco had taken every opportunity, since then, to return the favor. Harry insisted he didn't have to, insisted that he was irrevocably head over heels, but Draco was determined. 

Shuffling to the foot of the bed, Draco settled himself between Harry's legs and bent to run his tongue from the root to the tip of his cock, already half hard. Harry sighed in his sleep, shifting as his cock swelled. So Draco did it again. When he was fully hard, seeping precome onto the smooth plane of his stomach, Draco reached forward and wrapped one hand around the base. Taking a deep breath, he sank onto it, moaning at the taste, the sensation. 

“Draco,” Harry murmured, his hips bucking, instinctively. “Mmm, baby.”

Draco stilled, but only for a moment. Harry was still asleep - and wasn't it nice to know he even dreamed of being with Draco? - so he returned to his task. Bobbing his head, slowly, he set a steady pace designed to drive Harry mad before he even opened his eyes. Already, he was gasping, rocking his hips to meet Draco's lips on every downward slide. Gasping for breath, Draco pulled away, muttered a lubrication spell, and took him in, again, prodding at his.hole as he did. 

He circled the ring of muscles, teasing and relishing the gasps falling from Harry's lips with every breath. When he finally slid his finger past the muscles, into the slick, pulsing heat of him, Harry's hips lifted entirely off the bed, his hands flying to bury themselves in Draco's hair. 

“Oh, god,” he cried. “Oh, fuck, Draco!”

Increasing his suction, Draco added another finger, twisting and scissoring them to stretch Harry's opening enough to take his own cock. It had been several days, surely he'd need preparation. With that in mind, he added a third finger and Harry loosed a strangled cry. 

“Draco,” he panted. “Please, Draco! I'm so close!” 

Draco's brows drew together in a frown that his lips were too busy to reflect. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do, at all. Slipping his fingers from Harry's clenching entrance, Draco lifted off his cock and scowled up at him. 

“Oh, no you don't.” And Harry whimpered when he tightened his fist around the base of his cock, strangling his orgasm. When his arse fell back to the bed and he slowed the roll of his hips, Draco released him, petting slowly around his groin, but avoiding his cock, this time. “You're going to come around my cock,” he promised, moving slowly, slowly up Harry's body, sliding skin against skin, feeling each shudder as if it was his own. “I want to feel you squeeze around me, I want to feel you fall apart. Because of me.”

“Yes,” Harry sighed, running his hands over Draco's flank, around to his arse. “Anything, baby. Anything.”

Nodding, Draco rose to his knees, urged on by the gasp Harry tried to swallow as the cold air hit his heated skin. He muttered the lubrication charm and smeared the slick substance over his cock before hooking his hands under Harry's knees and lifting his arse off the bed. Sliding his own knees beneath Harry's hips, Draco released him to line himself up, cock pulsing with anticipation. 

With the head notched into place, he leaned forward, lowering himself across Harry's chest and slowly slipping into him with the motion. Harry's hands found their way back to his arse, squeezing tight in an effort to draw him closer, but Draco held his ground. Inch by glorious inch, he slid home, until Harry clenched tight around him, pleas falling freely from his lips. 

“Oh God, yes. Draco, please, move. Fuck me. I need- yes!”

Bracing his arms on either side of Harry's head, Draco pulled out, until just the very tip rested inside, then slid back in. The strain of maintaining this agonizing pace was already wearing on his control, sending sweat streaming down his back, between his shoulder blades and down the sides of his face. And Harry simply held on, gripping damp skin with slippery fingers, digging his nails in and urging Draco to move faster. 

When he could take no more, Draco reared back and wrapped one hand around Harry's cock, pumping in time with his leisurely thrusts, steadily increasing his speed until every breath that left Harry's lungs was a cry for more, for faster, for harder. And Draco complied, slamming into him, forcing his body up, over. 

He came with a shout, pulsing in Draco's hand, arse clamping around his cock and dragging his own orgasm from him. He tried to keep pumping, keep thrusting through lubricant and spunk, but his body froze, his muscles locked in place as he emptied himself into Harry. 

When he was finally spent, he fell forward, panting with exertion, exhausted by it. “Fucking yes,” he moaned, and Harry laughed. 

“God, Draco,” he sighed nuzzling Draco's temple. “I could get used to this.”

“Good,” Draco gasped, then stretched his legs out and winced when they creaked, a little. Fuck, he was getting old. “Because I intend to start every morning this way.” 

“Exactly this way?” Harry asked, amused. 

“Some variation of this,” Draco conceded. 

“Good.” With a sharp intake, Harry rolled them over, then rose and slapped a hand to Draco's arse. “Come on, gotta get ready,” he sang, climbing out of the bed. “We have a surprise party to get dressed for.”

“It's only noon, Potter,” Draco scoffed. “How long do you think it takes me to put on clothes?” 

“At least five hours,” he laughed, then danced out of the way of the pillow Draco chucked at him. “Come on! I promised Teddy we'd take him to buy this weekend’s film, first.”

Groaning, Draco allowed himself to be dragged from the bed. Yes, this was definitely the best way to start the day. 

End 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos are love and comments validate my existence! ❤️❤️❤️


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